


Magic Practice

by birdthatlookslikeastick



Category: Uprooted
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-06 05:41:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11594094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdthatlookslikeastick/pseuds/birdthatlookslikeastick
Summary: Sarkan's collection of magic tomes isn't of any use to Agnieszka, so they've taken to doing their magic practice sessions at the Olshanka Public Library.





	Magic Practice

"I don't understand," I said. "It's far easier to grow a flower. Why would anyone bother?"

Sarkan and I had been sitting in the common area of the Olshanka Public Library, doing our regular magic practice. Sarkan had been relying more and more on the public library to find magic tomes similar to Jaga's, after it had become clear that his stock of spellbooks were useless to me. A public library is a remarkably good place to practice magic. Mind you, we normally didn't use the common area. He'd tried to book one of the private study rooms, as usual, but it was a busy day in the library and we hadn't been able to get a booking. The school district was having a professional development day, and the library was absolutely packed to the gills with schoolchildren and their desperate parents, looking for a last minute activity. It was also blisteringly hot, and the public library was one of the very few free, air conditioned spaces where anyone and everyone was welcome. So, we took a work table in the non-fiction section, near some of the magic books.

The common area was a large, circular room, with the non-fiction collection in spoke-like shelves arranged around the outside, and work tables in the center, under a skylight. We were near a bank of computers. A 3D printer chugged away cheerfully, building an iPhone case for a patron. Next to us, a gentleman was playing World of Warcraft. On the other side was a student with a thick biology textbook and a latte, tidy notes spread over the entire table. A security guard was having a discussion with a patron about appropriate uses of the washroom.

Sarkan scowled. "How on earth can you be maintaining the spell? You're not even paying any attention!" 

"I... started it, and now I'm following the path! It doesn't really require attention, exactly... but it's taking quite a lot of magic to keep it up." Not that it showed. I was trying to fashion the illusion of a rose, and it was fiendishly difficult. It looked like a child's drawing of a rose. I shook my head and turned my attention back to my spell, trying to sharpen the petals.

Sarkan drew a deep breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He abruptly stormed off to get another book from the library. A couple seconds later he stormed back to the computer to use the catalog.

Magic does not, precisely, have a classification in the Duey Decimal system. The OPL maintains a sensible collections of magical tomes in the Manuscripts and Rare Books section (090) but I don't think the librarians were ever really happy with that classification. Nor was Sarkan - there was a spectacle when he learned of this classification. "I can't find anything in here, because the books are sorted alphabetically, by author - magical or not - according to how rare they are? This is a library?" he berated the poor librarian at the reference desk. I had been mortified. Who cared where the books were to be found, as long as they were there? But then again, back before I had any control over my magic, I once accidentally sorted all the books in the 752 section by color. The librarians weren't too happy about that either. I'd nearly lost my borrowing privileges.

Since then, more and more magical texts had been reclassified by subject matter. Some were under 204.xx (religious experience, life, practice), 53x (Physics), and even various parts of the 600s (Technology). Some of the chattier books had even ended up with the autobiographies. The end result, however, simply meant that the useful magical collection was spread loosely throughout the non-fiction collection. One particularly simple collection of spells got misfiled in the children's classics. Sarkan was advocating for a new Dewey Decimal classification for magical books, but libraries are slow to change.

My rose dropped a petal, and assumed an even more blob-like shape. Sarkan returned and sat, thumbing through an old leather tome.

"Try to match my spell," he said, through clenched teeth. " _Vadiya rusha ilikad tuhi_ ".

A perfect illusion of a rose appeared, rotating slowly above the melamine table. A two-year-old boy, having slipped out from under the watchful eye of his father, toddled over to us and stared solemnly at our roses, dragging behind him a much-loved plush Angry Birds doll by the topknot. I smiled at him, then took a deep breath, and moved my rose closer to Sarkan's. 

Just as our roses aligned, I became aware of the workings of his spell, whirring away like a pocketwatch. I frowned. I hadn't the faintest idea what he had done, but I thought I could see the spaces in it, places where our two workings might... fit? On impulse, I intertwined my magic with his. 

"What on earth are you..." he began. Suddenly, our two roses merged, and there was only one - more real than mine, more organic than Sarkan's. But then, the two streams of our magic melded together more fully. Suddenly, all throughout the common reading room, wildflowers were erupting out from the floor. Thick green vines twined around the legs of the tables and into the fluorescent light fixtures. Broad-leaf ferns sprouted from the electrical sockets. Fungi swelled and lolled off the newspaper racks. Alarmed patrons, lost in their own books and newspapers, disappeared beneath sudden surging growths of shrubbery.

From every magical book in the reference section, an enormous bromeliad burst forth, sending its enormous red bracts skyward. The gentleman playing World of Warcraft had thrown himself backwards and away from his computer in fear, as the native flora of Azeroth poured out of the monitor and keyboard; great lanky shoots of Felwort herb, if I recalled, though I hadn't played in a long time. 

Confusion reigned. Patrons were yelling and fighting to free themselves of the twisted vines and runners. The toddler giggled as he and his plushie were born skyward in the crook of an elm sapling. The air was heavy with lush forest scents. An elderly patron, bound to a brand-new redwood tree by an equally-brand-new twist of English Ivy, reached in vain for his walker, now home to a flourishing cluster of wild orchids. 

An redwood burst forth out through the map table, shot to the ceiling, and soundly smacked the smoke sensor, setting off the fire alarm. The 3D printer was busy vomiting forth an enormous red plastic laurel bush. 

"Is... is this what you meant?" I asked Sarkan, suddenly self-conscious. When had we linked hands? Sarkan was slack-jawed, completely unprepared for what had just happened. Magic was coursing through both of us. 

A librarian in a book-print dress fought her way through the underbrush, vaulting over the cluster of tree roots that had surrounded our table. She took a moment to assess the situation, and then - calmly but firmly - explained that forest groves were not permitted in the library, and asked us to leave.

I started apologizing and backing towards the exit, but I was not fast enough - a second librarian, responding to the fire alarm, ran in and sprayed Sarkan with a fire extinguisher.


End file.
